


bright are the stars that shine

by krtrs



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Character Study, Declarations Of Love, First Meetings, Fluff and Angst, Gardens & Gardening, Living Together, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, Non-Linear Narrative, Past Lives, Pining, Post-Canon, Pre-Canon, Wings, because how could i not??, vague reference to that song rewrite the stars from the greatest showman
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-08
Updated: 2019-07-08
Packaged: 2020-06-24 23:38:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19733980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/krtrs/pseuds/krtrs
Summary: “They say destinies are written in the stars. What if we just rewrote ours?”“You know better than most that we can’t."





	bright are the stars that shine

**Author's Note:**

> the title comes from the beatles song "and i love her" because there just isn't enough queen to go around

Soft skin pressed into silk sheets. Warm kisses trailed down collarbones, leaving subtle bruises along their path.* The angel felt himself falling, but not quite Falling. 

He’d done this before, with humans he’d been fond of, but this time felt different in a way he couldn’t explain. This time felt right.

Crowley writhed underneath his Opposition, reaching desperately for the release he’d been edging towards for the last half hour. Aziraphale revelled in it, letting his body overtake his mind just this once. His movements were slow and thorough. He assumed the demon beneath him was enjoying himself based on the unholy sounds he was making.

Traitorous wings pulled themselves into the material plane as the two came together. Golden specks against black feathers reminded Aziraphale of who exactly he was dealing with. He decided not to care.

Crowley pushed himself up by his elbow, wrapping his other arm around the angel’s neck. The two crashed back down to the mattress below them, foregoing their corporations need for air.

It wasn’t until they finally parted that one of them spoke.

“Was that better than Wilde?” Crowley teased, panting slightly.

Aziraphale laughed, burying his flushed face into the crook of Crowley’s neck. “Yes.”

*They could easily have willed the marks away, but neither had any desire to.

\- 

“We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Crowley asked, lips brushing against the angels own, eyes half-lidded. He leaned forward, closing the short distance between them. Aziraphale didn’t object, letting one hand roam up and rest on the side of Crowley’s face. The other entangled itself in the demon's hair. “The world’s ending.”

It wasn’t until the two broke apart again that he spoke up. “Our sides won’t like this. We could get into trouble.”

“Who says we have to have sides? Why can’t we just have _our_ side?” Crowley tried, hands resting on his angel's waist. 

“Crowleyー” Aziraphale sighed, letting himself get cut off by another kiss. “You know we can’t.”

The demon only hummed in response, running a hand under Aziraphale’s shirt.

“Do you not want this?”

“Of course I want this,” he said, filling his voice with as much certainty as he could muster. He’d always wanted this. “But you know what could happen.”

“Down Under doesn’t pay much attention to what I do. I’ll be fine.” The demon laughed harshly. “And even if they do find out, I’ll probably get a commendation. Tempting an angel? Unheard of.”

“And what about me? What if Upstairs catches on?” He must’ve let on more fear than he wanted, because Crowley’s wicked smile dulled to a comforting grin, and his grip on the angel tightened.

“I won’t let you Fall, angel,” he assured. 

“I’m afraid you won’t get much of a say,” Aziraphale said matter-of-factly. His thumb traced over the constellation Cygnus, right underneath Crowley’s cheekbone. A scowl appeared in place of a smile on the demon’s lips. The Principality wanted nothing more than to kiss it away. He refrained. “Neither of us will.”

Crowley leaned down, reading his mind. The kiss was sweet, soft. As if they both knew this was all they could ever have. Pulling away, Aziraphale rested his forehead against Crowley’s. He pushed a strand of hair behind the demon’s ear, trailing his hand down to rest on his chest instead.

“This is our destiny, you know,” Aziraphale mumbled. His eyes trailed down towards the floor. “Angel, demon. Could never happen.”

“They say destinies are written in the stars,” Crowley said in a voice barely above a whisper. “What if we just rewrote ours?”

“You know better than most that we can’t,” Aziraphale said. The night suddenly felt very cold and very quiet, as if the comfort from before had been ripped away from them without a second of warning.

“So you’re saying our hands are tied?”

“Mine are.”

-

“Do you love me?”

“As much as one can with a thousand of cupid’s arrows in their heart.”

“Only a thousand?”

“Ten thousand.”

“A _million_.”

“You’re right, my dear. A million.”

Tired laughter filled the air. Pale fingers intertwined, abandoning empty wine glasses in the grass. The blanket was soft and the stars were bright. The silence was comfortable.

After a long pause, Crowley whispered to the dark, his gaze pointed up at the sky, “I love you too, angel.”

“I know.”

A muffled snort from the demon tugged Aziraphale’s attention away from the night sky, snapping them both out of their daze. “What?”

“Could you be any more cheesy?”* 

“Oh get off, you started it,” Aziraphale scrunched up his nose, shoving Crowley’s shoulder with his own.

*In fact, he could be more cheesy. He had half a mind to prove that to the demon lying beside him.

-

“I’ll be out in the garden,” Crowley said to no one in particular. A short hum from Aziraphale indicated that he’d heard, maybe not understood, but he’d heard. He was too engrossed in his novel to look up.

The demon stepped outside the cottage, feeling the warm air hit his cold skin. The sun was starting to set, leaving the Northern Star all alone in the sky. The air smelled of rain, and Crowley glared at the clouds positioning themselves over his head. They seemed to move along a tad quicker than before.

The garden was lush and green, twice the size of the one in Crowley’s London flat. Aziraphale had helped him make it. Crowley could have miracled itーcursed it?ーinto existence, but doing it by hand made it mean more.

Grabbing a watering can from the patio, he sauntered over to the greenery. He started with the younger lily of the valley plant, glaring from behind his glasses. They shook slightly, making Crowley grin just a bit. Aziraphale would have scolded him for scaring the poor flowers, but he didn’t care. Making plants fear him made him happy, so he carried on.

He moved onto the rose bushes. They were in full bloom.*

Looking at them now, Crowley was reminded of a certain redheaded from 1914. She’d looked dashing in her homemade dress, though the pink fabric made her skin appear almost sickly pale in Crowley’s opinion. She’d been a charming young lady. Her husband had volunteered for service in The War To End All Wars, stationed somewhere in France. It wasn’t hard, really. She hadn’t put up any arguments to Crowley’s temptations. Lust had been the obvious go-to for the demon and, to be honest, she was very good at what she did.

Shaking his head, he tried to clear away thoughts of nails scratching skin and messy lipstick marks. It hadn’t meant anything. He liked to tell himself that he’d just been doing his job. That Hell had always liked the simple temptations more than his elaborate tricks anyway. But, he had to admit, he only did it because it felt good.

He’d particularly enjoyed his time in Rome sometime near 1969. He’d spent his summer nights with a spunky man whose name started with a V. Or perhaps it was a B?** Crowley couldn’t recall. But he vividly remembered the wonderful things that man did with his mouth.

Then there was the amateur rugby player in the small fishing town of Kinsale, 1983. He’d been a good-natured man, all brawn and even more heart. He was gentle with the demon and for some reason, Crowley hadn’t minded. It was nice. 

Still a sin, though, he reminded himself. Still succumbing to Lust.

There was one thing most of his past lovers had in common, and it was exactly what was written on the tin. After sharing warm nights and sweet words for too long, they had fallen in _love_. 

And so he ran. 

Every time.

It had become a pattern, he noticed. And yet, here he was again, in love. With an angel, no less. His hereditary enemy. If he’d run from the humans, what was keeping him from running away from Aziraphale? 

Suddenly, his train of thought was dragged back to the present moment by a closing door. Crowley blessed under his breath as he realised he’d overwatered the roses. He willed away the excess liquid. Couldn’t let them think they were getting spoiled.

A pair of arms wrapped around his middle and a chaste kiss was pressed right under his ear, where the dark outline of Orion lay.

“Hello,” he said, turning around as best he could to see Aziraphale behind him.

“Hello,” the angel replied, resting his chin atop Crowley’s shoulder. His smile was contagious. “It’s getting cold out here, come inside.”

“I will in a bit.” Crowley untangled himself from the angels grasp. There were more plants to tend to. 

He took a few steps forward before Aziraphale snatched up his free hand, tugging him back. With a yelp of surprise, Crowley stumbled, letting Aziraphale catch him. He was greeted by a short kiss.

“Whaー”

“Promise you won’t run away.” It was then that Crowley realised exactly why he wouldn’t. What he had with his angel wasn’t Lust, or love born from Lust. It wasn’t just meaningless words shared during sleepless nights, or silence spilt across warm beds. It was more pure than that. It was six thousand years worth of friendship and devotion and shared experiences. It was lust, lowercase, born from love. It was gradual and slow. Sincere.

“I promise.” And he meant it.

*The fact that they were out of season didn’t matter. Crowley assumed they’d bloom all year long, so they obliged. 

**It was actually a C.

-

Aziraphale glanced over his book at the occult force who was pretending to be asleep on his sofa. The sun was streaming through the window at an angle that landed directly on Crowley. The angel had a feeling that the demon was bending the light ever so slightly to obtain its warmth. The sunlight made Crowley’s freckles stand out against his skin. Aziraphale spotted Lepus in the mess.

“My dear?” The angel spoke. Crowley hummed in response. “What do you remember of Heaven?”

The demon sat up abruptly, turning to face Aziraphale. His glasses had been discarded earlier, leaving his serpentine eyes out in the open. Aziraphale rather liked them. “Why are you asking?”

“Oh, I don’t know,” the angel said. “I was just curious. It’s alright if you’d prefer not to speak of it.”

Crowley relaxed, leaning back into the couch. “I remember bits and pieces. Faces without names. Places I saw.”

Aziraphale nodded, setting down his book. “I made stars, I know that.’’

“Is that all?” He tried to hide the hopeful tone behind his words.

“I remember you,” Crowley said suddenly. Aziraphale felt himself straighten in his armchair. “ _Well_ , not you exactly, but your eyes. Brightest blue I’d ever seen. I recognized you in the Garden, but I couldn't remember your name for the life of me.”

Aziraphale smiled brightly despite himself. 

“We’d only met once,” he reassured the demon.

“Oh,” said Crowley, closing his eyes again and sinking further into the chair. “That’s alright then.”

-

The door slammed closed, echoing through the dark flat. The demon held his angel against the wall, not wanting to break the kiss for even a second. Aziraphale thought vaguely that this wasn’t right. He flipped around, leaving Crowley in the position he’d been in previously. Better.

He reached up, running his fingers through the demon’s hair. It was shorter than it had been the last time they’d done this, eleven years prior, but he didn’t mind.*

“Wait,” Crowley said between kisses. “Aziraphale, wait.”

He waited.

“We can’t do this.”

“Why not?” Aziraphale asked, letting his fingers trail down to rest on the demon’s cheek. “The world’s not ending.”

“Angel…” Crowley trailed off, leaning ever so slightly into Aziraphale’s touch. “I can’t let you Fall.”

“If I were going to, I already would have,” Aziraphale said, leaning back up to kiss him again. The demon practically melted in his hands. 

“Butー”

“Crowley, dear,” Aziraphale cut him off. He’d waited six thousand years to be able to do this, and he wasn’t going to let Crowley’s paranoia get the best of him. “No one is paying attention anymore. It’s just us now.”

“We’re on our own side,” Crowley muttered under his breath. It was what he’d been trying to convince the angel of for the past eleven years. Aziraphale hummed his confirmation, standing on his tip-toes to reach high enough to brush his nose against Crowley’s. “But you know what they say about stars and destinies.”

“Someone once told me we could rewrite them,” Aziraphale murmured. Crowley’s grip on his waist tightened, leaning down until their lips were barely touching.

“Someone once told me we couldn’t.”

“You know better than most that we can.”

*A lot more had changed since then. He didn’t mind any of it.

-

He was stunning. Aziraphale thought he had got to be the most stunning thing he’d ever seen. Of course, all Archangels are made to look exemplary. They’re leaders, after all, and the best way to lead is by example. But this specific angel was different. He was more unique than his counterparts.

His hair was a bright scarlet, worn in long waves that ended just past his shoulders. Sometimes he’d braid it. Aziraphale thought it looked awfully soft. His wings looked softer though. Both pairs, that is. They were sleek and well groomed, and each feather tip appeared to be dipped in pure gold. He stood out from his silver-winged partners.* 

It would be an understatement to say that he had no idea Aziraphale existed. He had no reason to, really. Aziraphale was only a mere Principality. He was created to watch over the humans**, which meant there was absolutely no reason that this archangel and Aziraphale should ever need to interact. But that was quite alright. Aziraphale was perfectly content to admire him from a distance. It gave him fewer chances to make a fool of himself.

He’d usually see him at meetings, slouching somewhere in the front with his friends and equals, smiling brightly and laughing at jokes Aziraphale didn’t understand. He seemed to enjoy Lucifer’s company more than the other Archangel’s. And he hardly paid attention to what was being discussed at the meetings, but he always arrived with so many questions. Too many. The questions he asked scared Aziraphale, to be frank. He didn’t know what to think of it, so he tried not to think of it at all.

It wasn’t until a trip to the stars that he’d had the pleasure to meet the Archangel. He stood*** in the darkness, taking in the sights around him. The glowing balls of gas hung in the sky like lights strung around the cosmos for Christmas―not that Christmas was a thing yet.

Soft footsteps echoed behind him. Another being came to stand next to him, lit up by a softly shining halo. “Beautiful, aren’t they?”

Aziraphale recognized the voice. He glanced over to see the Archangel who spent most of his time tending to the stars around them. “Yes, they’re lovely.”

“That’s my favourite,” he said, placing a hand on Aziraphale’s shoulder and directing him to face Earth. He pointed a long finger to the three stars closest to the planet. “We named it Alpha Centauri.”

Aziraphale nodded along to every word, entranced. 

“I’m sorry. I don’t believe I ever caught your name.” Aziraphale turned his gaze back to the being beside him. He’d never been this close to an Archangel before. It struck him then that this angels' eyes were different than any he’d seen before. Pure gold, exactly like his wings. They looked like stars of their own in the light of the angels' halo. And, looking closer at his appearance, it appeared his face was scattered with glittering freckles in the shapes of constellations. Aziraphale could distinctly make out the Big Dipper spanning over the Archangels' nose.

“Oh, right,” the Principality said, pulling himself out of his reverie. “I’m Aziraphale.”

“Hm. Aziraphale,” the Archangel said slowly, as if testing out how the name felt in his mouth. “Nice to meet you.”

“Very nice to meet you as well, ehmー”

“Raphael.”

*The other archangels feathers weren’t really silver. Only Gabriel’s were, actually. Michael’s were rhodium. Uriel had platinum. Chamuel was ruthenium. Jophiel boasted iridium. And Zadkiel donned palladium. Nevertheless, they all _looked_ silver enough. The only other stray from the aesthetic was Lucifer. He had elysium feathers, though he usually kept his wings folded away, so not many noticed the difference.

**Who still hadn’t been invented yet. Whenever questioned about it, God would brush the curious angels off and send them to fetch Her some tea. _You can’t rush perfection_ , She’d say.

***There wasn’t any solid surface to stand on beneath him. He only believed he’d be able to able to walk around space, so he could.

**Author's Note:**

> hope you enjoyed this, and if you did, feel free to leave kudos or a comment to let me know!
> 
> -karter <3


End file.
